The honeymoon is over ...

There's this time when you're on a diet when everything is new and shiny and you think 'this is easy, I'm going to do it forever' ... and then week three kicks in.

After a horror week three involving: the house move from hell (7 hours to move 5 minutes down the road);  the kind health news that, even though it's not deadly, says you're getting old; getting stuck in some bureaucratic nightmare involving the ultimate evil trio of banks, lawyers and government departments and costs money that mounts up by the day; my coach saying I need to give up coffee and my husband almost dying - I really need to shop.

I need to shop like a reformed smoker needs something to do with their hands, like and alcoholic needs their scotch. My blood boils for it. My hands shake. My breath is short. 

Why? Because for just 5 minutes, while I shop, try on and imagine the possibilities everything else will go away. 

Then only thing right now that stands between me and a good shop? My mantra.

Ps: I have never applied this mantra in an abdominal crunch crisis of confidence before, but obviously someone has.